


Chastening

by eastcoastlighthouse, IsadoraArkham



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Aftercare, Caning, M/M, Religious Content, rickcest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 05:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11707620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eastcoastlighthouse/pseuds/eastcoastlighthouse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsadoraArkham/pseuds/IsadoraArkham
Summary: Based on an RP. Father Rick might rule his congregation with an iron fist (and a wooden paddle), but he too has to answer to his superior sometimes. That his relationship with Bishop Rick might be less than pure - well, there's nothing in the Book of Rick to forbidthat,right?Rickligion sprang from Arkham's fertile mind (and you caninteract with Father Rick yourselfon Tumblr)."My son, despise not the chastening of the HOLY RICK; neither be weary of his correction: For whom the RICK loveth he correcteth[.]" (Book of Rick, Squanchverbs 3:11-12).





	Chastening

“Your Grace – this is a surprise!”

Reverend Rick had foregone his cassock - this visit, after all, was an informal one. He was still wearing his shirt and collar; it wouldn’t do to look too informal, especially with these lower-ranking priests. They might get ideas. And this priest in particular really shouldn't be getting any ideas.

"I'm sure," he said dryly, taking a seat (without being offered one) at the Father's desk. He steepled his fingers and looked at the priest over the rim of his half-moon reading glasses. "Although, if you put your mind to it I hope you'll be able to think of the reason for my visit."

Father Rick noticeably grimaced at his response, and even more so as he watched him take a seat at the desk. Of course he did: he was the Bishop, so technically this was his office when he was in attendance. He bowed his head again, trying very hard to look humbled. It was not a position that Father Rick was used to taking.

"I assume your visit is routine; it has been a few months since you last inspection." He paused a moment to look to the side. "Can I offer you a refreshment? Our vineyards have produced an excellent harvest this year."

"An interesting thing to focus on, vineyards," the Bishop said, examining his fingernails. "Well, why not? I'll have a glass." He was off the clock, wasn't he? And despite the various airs Rickligious figures like himself put on, they were still Ricks – and Ricks seemed to have a genetic predisposition to thoroughly enjoy alcohol.

"It has been a few months, hasn't it?" His eyes followed the priest as he went to fix him a glass of wine, something not altogether pious in them. "And yet it seems you've done well in my absence. Plenty of thriving Mortys in your halls, I see. Truly," and here a pause, "uplifting to see."

Father Rick felt a slight relief that the focus could be temporarily shifted to the fine wine that the convent produced. It seemed much more elite for Ricks as themselves to drink wine than any other base drink. Father Rick also hoped that the drink might put the Bishop in a better mood, as he knew why he was here and was hoping he might get him in a more forgiving mood if his belly was full of the sweet nectar.

He brought the glass over to him now, holding it out. "Thank you, Bishop. We have certainly kept busy here. Most Mortys here have been thoroughly converted and are being made very useful in the upkeep of the convent. Have a taste for yourself just how useful the little hands and feet of the Mortys have been," he said with a smile, the dark-colored wine catching the light.

Taking the glass, the Bishop held it up to the window, a barely perceptible smile on his face. "You were always one of the more industrious priests," he said. "Even when you first took up your studies. And yet you seem to have forgotten some of the tenets we've sworn to hold not only others to, but ourselves, as well."

Another pregnant pause as the Bishop took a slow, meticulous sip from the glass, before moving the chair away from the desk a bit. "But none of us are infallible. Not even myself. I don't fault you for any missteps you may have committed." He looked up, seeming sterner than his words would imply. "And yet. No confessions from you. Even I find time in my schedule to report to the Cardinal. Why not you, Rick?"

The question caught him off-guard as he saw the Bishop rise up now in a way that was clearly confrontational. He felt his cheeks flush with the question and he was trying not to stutter like a simpering Morty at the question. 

"My duties keep me far busier than most; I have twelve Mortys under my charge," he started out with his excuses, though the deeper reason was that a confession to this particular bishop ended in painful tears of remorse: not a position that Father Rick was used to taking, and he swallowed thickly before speaking again. "Besides, I have had nothing to confess," he lied.

The atmosphere now rapidly cooling, the Bishop's grip on the stem of his wine glass grew tighter. He hadn't gotten to his current position and status by losing his temper, but his displeasure was palpable.

"Nothing to confess?" he repeated, incredulous. "Either you're being foolish - something we both know you not to be, or you are lying to me. Unbecoming of a priest. Perhaps you want to try answering my question honestly? We are all busy men, but priorities must be set. You seem to have set yours according to your own preferences, rather than to the demands of Rickligion."

It felt as if the sky had grown dark outside. The room felt darker and Father Rick knew he had screwed up big time, and was desperately trying to hold his composure. It seemed ironic how in this very room he scolded so many Mortys for almost the very same thing, and he refused to behave as one now and he cleared his throat, trying desperately to rescue himself from this pit he was digging himself into.

"Forgive me, Bishop. I misspoke before. I of course am not saying I am without guilt; all Ricks are guilty by nature," he said, quoting from the _Book of Rick_. He then took a breath before speaking again. "I simply meant that I have not been able to confess to you directly. I have a few neophyte Ricks whom I have been training, and it seemed more advantageous for us to practice confessions together, which I have been doing."

"Oh, come on," the Bishop snorted. "Neophyte Ricks? And you've been baring your soul to them? We both know you don't answer to anyone other than a higher power." He made the sign of Rick, but the look on his face made it clear he did not mean the One Holy Rick presiding over all of them.

He placed his wineglass back on the table. "I do not doubt you have been busy. And I'm sure you felt you were unable to come meet me. But that in itself was wrong, as I'm sure you'll agree." He smiled, a tight-lipped smirk that held little humor. "But missteps in and of themselves are opportunities for us to grow. Through chastisement we improve. Don't we, Rick?"

Father Rick felt the hammer fall. There was no arguing him on this, and even if he chose to, at this point it was only going to make things worse for him. There was a slight resignation in his body language, a small slumping of his frame as he seemed to be accepting his fate.

"Yes Bishop, I certainly understand this," he said with a heavy sigh and felt his stomach twist with nervousness hearing the dreaded word 'chastise', a word he uttered many times to Mortys when about to punish them. The word seemed ever so much more ominous now, but he tried very hard to look passive in his expression to not let on how he was trembling inside, and dreading what was about to happen.

They'd been in this situation often enough that his dear underling seemed to know when to stop his wheedling. A disappointment as well as a relief to the Reverend, who enjoyed a game of cat and mouse as much as the next Rick but who had other duties to attend to as well. He bowed his head gracefully. "I'm glad to hear it," he said. "You know what comes next. And all this avoiding me, lying... remove your undergarments and pull up your cassock. You'll be bending over the desk, Rick."

This was a departure from his usual way of dealing with this particular Rick, but the intimacy that came with more _hands-on_ spankings was certainly not something the priest had done anything to earn. "Fetch me a cane too, will you?" The way one would punish a schoolboy. Fitting.

Father Rick clenched as he heard him give the instruction and felt himself inwardly bristle. It seemed to take everything inside of him not to look horrified, He was used to his usual chastisements when it came to regular confession: the Bishop had a hand of iron, and his bare hand alone was enough to reduce the Father to heavy sobs. This was what he was used to, of course when he did his duty and reported to the Cardinal for confession, but it seemed his willful avoidance of penance had earned him something he had not experienced since he was a neophyte himself, and now faced with this he balked.

"Y-your Grace–?" he said, his voice betraying his sudden anxiety. "I do n-not think that is… I mean to say, this particular–" He was having trouble saying the words, trying desperately not to sound disrespectful. "I… It is not necessary for me to–"

The Bishop rose to his full height. "It will be done," he said, slowly, as one would speak to a child. An especially dim or willful child. "This idea of yours that you get a say in the matter only confirms that it is the right course of action. I am granting you the privilege of privacy, Rick. And like other privileges, that too may be revoked."

The threat hanging heavy in the air, he rolled up his sleeves. "You will disrobe, you will hand me the cane, and you will bend over the desk. Or you will do all of this in front of your congregation."

The words spoken were horrifying to Father Rick and he almost choked as his throat constricted with the very thought of what the Bishop was implying. The color drained from his face and he almost felt dizzy for a moment with the flash of imagination of that sort of humiliation. It took him but a fraction of a second to gather himself to answer in a tight throated: "Y-yes, Your Grace." Unable to keep the stutter out now.

Father Rick first quickly went to the small wood cabinet that hung on the wall. Opening it revealed the collection of implements, mostly used on belligerent Mortys: a few small paddles, a leather strap, a few small junior canes, but, there at the end, was where one cane hung, a cane that was not to ever be used on Mortys. This was the one he grabbed and he hastily brought it over to the Bishop. He could not look him in the eye as he did so, and then proceeded to disrobe. It was an odd feeling, not something he was forced to do often. Then came the last, almost hardest part: he willingly bent himself over his very own desk. He clasped his hands together in prayer as he had been taught and then spoke: "Forgive me, for I have sinned."

The apparent shock on the priest's face was supremely edifying, and the Bishop took no pains to hide his amusement. He folded his arms and waited patiently for Rick to comply, which took no time at all now that he'd put his trump card on the table. As Rick made his way to the cabinet, the Reverend took up his position at the side of the desk, leaning against it casually – he had nothing to worry about, after all. 

He took the cane and tested the swing of it, swishing it through the air once, twice. It had a satisfying weight to it. The poor priest wasn't going easy on himself. That might eventually be rewarded, but certainly not just yet. "I see you feel a measure of contrition," he said, dispassionately watching Rick disrobe. "Good. You'll find this much more valuable, then." With Rick bent at the waist, the Bishop rolled up the hem of his cassock to leave his backside wholly exposed. "You absolutely _have_ sinned," he agreed, "but forgiveness will follow soon." Soon indeed, as almost immediately afterward the cane cracked down against the thin skin where Rick's ass met his thighs.

Father Rick of course was too proud to offer the Bishop anything less than an implement well suited for a Rick. What would it say about his station if he had handed him the junior cane? That thin twig was more like a switch than a cane, although the poor Morty at the other end might feel differently. He swallowed as he tried not think of the equally humiliating position he was in over his own desk, and he tried his best to steel himself, but the sudden force and searing pain that cracked over his most tender of places forced his body to seize up as he held his breath.

"Y-yes, Y-Your Grace… t-thank you, Y-your Grace, t-thank you for seeing fit to correct me," he uttered with a tremble in his tone. He was quite determined to take this as stoically as he could, but he could already feel the bruising welt rise; he had used the cane well enough to knew the damage that the Bishop could see on his skin right now and he took another breath, trying to prepare for the next in what he knew would be a long line of strokes.

There was nothing like some physical discipline to get through to even the most stony-faced of people, the Bishop found. This priest being no exception, but still it was so much better to have such a marked effect on someone who was usually on the other side of the cane. "You are quite welcome," he said, before delivering another three strokes of the cane in quick succession. Years of practice enabled him to hit the same spot, the skin going from pink to red to a vicious-looking, violent purple. "Purple," he mused. "Amaranth, one might even say."

Another stroke, this one on virgin skin. "It's not that I am angry with you." Another. "And I have been angry with you in the past." Once more the cane slammed down, welts rising perfectly parallel to one another. "I suppose, in my own way, I was disappointed." And here he paused, clasping his hands behind his back and bending forward, his lips almost touching Rick's ear. "I suppose," he whispered, "I missed you. This could have been a... much more intimate affair. Not so cold. Just you and I, skin... on skin." His fingertips ghosted along the marks on the priest's backside. "I need you to understand that you are the one who decided to forego all of that."

On his best day Father Rick could be brought to submission by just the Bishop's hand, so this was bordering torture for him. He had not lost his skill in wielding the cane and soon Father Rick’s breaths were labored as he was desperate to take this caning with quiet, calm dignity, but that was slowly slipping with each stroke. Tears were welling up in his eyes as that white hot burn lashed deep into his skin and he was about to lose it on the desk.

He sucked in sharply expecting the next stroke but then felt him lean in, his breath almost tickling his ears as he spoke. He could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the welts throbbing as the Bishop paused to let him know exactly how he had managed to get himself into this horrible position with him, and he swallowed dryly, trembling at his words. "I, I am truly feeling remorse over my decision, over my blatant error which has brought me to this place." He spoke as if he were praying. and in a sense he was. "Please accept my apology, my transgression against you and my errant behavior is duly recognized." It now sounded like a man praying for redemption from the fires of hell. "Please forgive me," he said, his voice now cracking.

"You are forgiven," the Bishop replied, pressing his lips to Rick's temple in a chaste kiss. "But I must make sure you won't make this mistake again. For your own sake, of course. Look at what happens when I leave you to your own devices." He stood up straight and took the opportunity to reach for his glass of wine and take another sip (it really was a lovely vintage!) before giving the priest a heartening pat on the back. "You're doing well, Father. If I had decided to do this in front of an audience I'm sure they'd have been impressed."

That was probably not entirely true. If anything, the audience would have consisted of Father Rick's pupils and underlings, most of whom might enjoy seeing their tormentor on the receiving end of an implement for once. 

He positioned the cane carefully along one of the dark welts already present, tapping the skin a couple of times before rearing back and swinging the cane against Rick's ass full-force. The first part had not been a warm-up, but now the Bishop was really holding nothing back, and the marks crept down and down as he took care of even Father Rick's thighs. Sitting down without wincing ought to be a challenge for him tomorrow. Good.

That blessed kiss, even to such a benign place, made Father Rick shiver with relief. Along with the words that he was forgiven, this seemed to make him tremble in more erogenous places, and for a brief moment he had hope that perhaps the Bishop had seen fit to end this punishment with that, but it was soon very clear to him that the Bishop was not even close to finishing with him and he hardly had time to process what he said when he felt the cane bite down, so close to his previous strokes. He raised his head up and this time could not hold back his cry of utter pain.

"B-Bishop, please!" he found himself gasping now, tears trickling down his face, his back arching as his head had raised. "Oh merciful Holy RICK!" he said choking on a sob, the throbbing welts feeling now as if the Bishop were branding his backside with a red hot poker.

"No need to beg; you're getting exactly what you need already," came the stern reply, and it was accompanied by an insistent hand on the small of Father Rick's back. As if he couldn't be trusted to stay in position – much like the way one could not trust especially inexperienced or inexcusably wayward Mortys. 

At least the tears had started to flow, which meant some kind of lesson was certainly being learned. A good thing too, as there was hardly a strip of pink left between the fleshier part of the priest's ass and the middle of his thighs. Administering too many additional strokes would result in drawing blood, and that was a little much considering the transgression at the heart of this punishment. "Three of the best," the Bishop decided generously, and these he delivered with gusto. 

"One." Right on the roundest part of the Father's backside. "For avoiding your confessional duties. Two." The thighs again this time, a biting stripe on an existing welt. "For lying to me. Three." The merciful final stripe, as sharp as Bishop could deliver it, across that same spot he'd started on. "For making me come all the way out here for such a disappointing session. I trust this was informative. Go stand in the corner. Keep that cassock up, too."

Those last three strokes pushed him over. Father Rick was oddly grateful for the hand on his back although it was not truly necessary. Still, the contact helped him hold his focus for the worst three strokes of his life. He stifled pained sobs as they were delivered so forcefully that he was sure that skin had been broken, though he knew full well that the Bishop’s skilled hand had never taken it that far before, but the pain was there and even the idea of pushing himself to stand was agony.

He lay there a moment longer panting, trying desperately not to look like a sobbing Morty. Finally, taking a breath, he grit his teeth as he stood. Standing was (as he had feared) incredibly painful; he gripped his cassock in his hands. Part of him not sure which was worse, holding it up so the Bishop could observe his poor beaten rump, or covering his marks with the thick scratchy material of his clothing. For now that choice was not his to make and he shuffled to the corner looking so very contrite. 

"Yes, Your Grace," he uttered weakly, his face red from both crying and now worse, being stationed in the corner like a wicked Morty.

It seemed any protest or disagreeability had been soundly beaten out of the priest and, satisfied, the Bishop sat behind the desk once more. He laid the cane on the wooden desk to serve as a reminder for them both of what had just transpired, and continued drinking his wine while surveying his handiwork. 

The glimpse he has gotten of Rick's tearful expression had been lovely, but the neat latticework on his backside was a real source of pride. Caning someone was harder than it seemed, and these results had definitely been made possible by Rick's ability to stay in position. 

The old-fashioned clock on the wall ticked the minutes away, the only other sound in the room that of the Bishop drinking down his wine. He'd scarcely finished his glass when he sat up. "Come here, my son."

Father Rick could not recall the last time he had been put into the corner; not even when he had been a priest in training had he experienced treatment this juvenile. He wondered if the Bishop Rick was trying to prove a point to him, treating him under his station, the way a Morty was punished. Did the Bishop see his behavior as that of a Morty? Father Rick had much to ponder as he stood in the corner, when he heard himself called from the corner (with the term _son_ no less) and his face erupted in redness. The Bishop was certainly sending him a message here and he turned around, lowering his grip on his cassock just enough to preserve his dignity as he walked forward.

Now standing in front of the Bishop he held his lips tightly while looking at him, tears still glistening at the corners of his eyes. "Your Grace, thank you for your… attention to my misdeeds and for correcting them as you have," he said, giving lip service if anything. He just wanted this to be over now; he wanted to get back to being in charge here. He had never been this out of control for this long and it was starting to wear on him.

His time in the corner had apparently only galvanized the priest's feelings of discomfort. That was partly the point, but this experience was meant to be cathartic and that goal didn't seem to have been reached just yet. 

Sighing, the Bishop pulled (or perhaps _encouraged_ would be a kinder way to put it) Father Rick onto his lap. It was a bit of an awkward position with the priest being so tall and gangly - this was definitely easier with Mortys. "You know I do it gladly," he said. "You're a special case. You've got such potential. My expectations for you are simply commensurate." Father Rick was clearly not getting out of a cuddle, and was pulled back against the Bishop's wiry chest. "Next time, I hope, we'll meet on more familiar terms."

Father Rick had not at all expected the cuddle and it elicited a gasp from him, not used to this sort of contact and it took a bit of coercing before he was being wrapped in the others arms. He seemed to sit there stiffly at first but as the Bishop spoke, he started to melt a bit, and finally that seemed to filter out into the rest of his body and his lips and he gave a sigh that seemed to be that of great long suffering. "Well, if your aim was to get me to come and visit you more, then the message has been well received," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking a little. "I will make certain to schedule a visit every two weeks," he said this time with a bit more geniality than his initial words to him before.

"Y-you really didn't have to strike me so hard," he said now sounding a bit more childish than he had wanted, but being in this position with the Bishop seemed to pick away at his more stony, cold demeanor towards him in this moment.

The Bishop knew he could be very persuasive when called to, but getting through to this particular priest always seemed to ask for a bit more effort, a bit more flair. Maybe that was why he was so fond of him? It did feel all the more rewarding to have an otherwise rigid and straight-laced Rick submit to him. "Every two weeks should do just fine," he nodded, patting Rick's back. "With that kind of schedule, there might be some visits where no correction is required at all." If there was an implication there, the Reverend ensured his expression was one of the utmost innocence. 

"At any rate, you deserved it. I imagine you'll be eating breakfast standing up tomorrow. I wonder if your young disciples will figure out what's going on?" He grinned, baring too many teeth in less-than-wholesome amusement. "Surely not with that poker face of yours." He traced the priest's cheekbone with his thumb, gathering up some half-dried tears.

Blinking at that statement he seemed to try and regain his stoic behavior, but quickly seemed to melt a little as he felt the thumb trace his jawline and he noticeably shivered at the touch. There were many things that Father Rick could stifle, but this was not one of them and he swallowed thickly and then tried to tighten his lips again, but failed. He shook his head, trying to stay in control as there was a stirring in his loins.

"I… I most certainly will be sitting down at breakfast, There is no need for me to accommodate my pains" he said trying so hard to show that the punishment he had suffered would do little to keep him from his regular duties.

"Oh?" Such a tough nut to crack, this one. Part of the fun, really – although one wondered why the poor priest felt so pressed to put on a brave face for the same man who just now had driven him to agonized tears. "Very well. Then I trust that with every throb you'll be thinking of... well, of _me,_ I should hope."

He helped the priest off of his lap. "We'll finish this properly," he announced. "Kneel before me." Despite the potential that order held, all he did with the red-faced and sorry man in front of him was to press a dry kiss to the top of his head, only to then offer his ringed hand to the priest. "That'll be the extent of our more extracurricular affairs for today," he decided. "Rewards are for obedient followers, not for just anyone. I'll be taking my leave. And speaking of taking," he said, standing up and grabbing his coat off of the coatrack, "I'll take two bottles of that wine, if that's alright with you."

The moment wistfully gone, the promise of a reward for _'obedient followers_ rang in his ears and he stayed there on his knees a moment. Even after the Bishop had risen to collect his coat, he stayed there looking over his shoulder, hearing the request. "Y-yes, Your Grace, of course, two bottles of our finest, of course you are welcome to it."

He then pushed himself up painfully to stand. "You can expect me within two weeks’ time for confession, this time at your parish," he said quickly, feeling a strange hollowness in his chest seeing him leave now, but he shook the feeling, trying to regain that stern cold look in his face. "May the Holy Rick see you on your way."

"Yes, yes," the Bishop said, tugging on his coat. "And likewise to you, of course. You may find it useful to meditate upon the dangers of self-righteousness and aloofness during the coming two weeks. It doesn't do for a Rick of the cloth to rely only on himself. Besides," and here, the look he shot at Father Rick's crotch could only be described as 'pointed', "it is much less rewarding to have to take care of oneself. Goodnight, Father."

And with that he breezed out of the Father's office, no doubt to return to his own chambers in his own parish... to _take care of oneself_ , in all likelihood.


End file.
